


Hold on now We're going Home

by ibreatheakaashi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Barebacking, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Hate to Love, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insomnia, M/M, Mild Language, Multi, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-06-10 03:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15282789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibreatheakaashi/pseuds/ibreatheakaashi
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime wasn’t your normal inspector, lounging around. He wasn’t scoping for some specimen to play around with. He had a job, one that might be a bit disconcerting. He was a cop, an undercover one for the keepers. He was investigating for a man by the name of Sato Fukuzawa. Convicted of sealing illegal drugs and sex trafficking.The best part was that Iwaizumi had authority to kill him.Iwaizumi, an undercover cop sent to stake out a man who he was sent to kill as the forces guard dog, meets Oikawa, a complete stranger, but he feels drawn to him as he makes a mistake; of sleeping with him.after a mission, he finds out that Oikawa isn't just someone, he's the sex toy of the infamous that he's tracking down. caught in a situation, they take him in, the man is cunning, and beautiful with a few tricks up his sleeve.but he's also working with the man who killed his parentshould he trust him?





	1. Six feet Under

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i wanted to write cuz i was inspired by Banana Fish and nightcall, an amazing fanfiction!
> 
> PLUS WHO DOESn'T LOVE A BADASS POWER COUPLE
> 
> i hope you enjoy the first chapter!

 Our love is six feet under  
I can't help but wonder  
If our grave was watered by the rain  
Would roses bloom?  
Could roses bloom  
Again?

_~ Six feet under by Billie Ellish~_

 

 It smelled like the sweat that dripped from the people around him. The lights covered the metallic black floor, making it sparkle with fluorescent colors of mint and lilac. It disgusted him, the place was filled with old men begging for attention from the young woman with giggly smiles and stilettos. All the attention was drawn away from him, leaving him unnoticeable. But he never provoked eyes when he came to his place. His sluggish features weren’t intriguing to the normal eye. The black and red plaid shirt, slung around his waist. His silver revolver tucked in the back, hidden by his black bomber jacket, snug around his arms. He swung his feet on the oval table, rattling his beer glass.

Iwaizumi Hajime wasn’t your normal inspector, lounging around. He wasn’t scoping for some specimen to play around with. He had a job, one that might be a bit disconcerting. He was a cop, an undercover one for the keepers. He was investigating for a man by the name of Sato Fukuzawa. Convicted of sealing illegal drugs and sex trafficking.

The best part was that Iwaizumi had authority to kill him.

He wasn’t a sadist, he just enjoyed his job. He played the part of your friendly neighborhood cop well, but he did more. He killed people for the good of Los Angeles. Tracked down foreign troublemakers taking their problems to halfway across the world.

He was sent to the nightclub 2 hours away from the outskirts of San Diego. Iwaizumi scoped the dance floor pounding with some upbeat pop music, bodies swaying their hips and heads to the beat. He strummed along, catching to the tuneful melody.

He watches the bartender entertaining the crowding drunk guests on the bar counter, his hands moving elaborately. The yellow, orange dye dispersing into the dull color of brown. They awe in amazement as their dull brains clap at the show. He pours the drinks into small tequila shot glasses, and they drink the spiked drink.

How did he know it was spiked, well it was just an instinctual guess, but he was confident that he was correct.

Iwaizumi scoured through the mass of glittering figures, dense in the black orbs drinking them all in. His hazel eyes linger on one person. They stood out against the rest, a ray of light from out of the dark. It was a man, his Chestnut brown hair cowlicked an swept across his face. His brown eyes were sultry and he danced, catching all attention to the dance floor where he stood. He was entrancing, he found that he was following every movement he made. His body swayed slowly to the music, his hips thrusting side to side. The blue skinny jeans tight around his thighs and sides showing off his lean muscles. It was alluring, watching him move his body in unseen ways. And he was beautiful, and the man knew that. Men strolled up to him, and Iwaizumi watches as he smiles, one loud and bright but lethal and they slinked off.

Iwaizumi was wandering off and their eyes meet. He gives him a tipped nod and mischievous smile. He looks away, fiddling with the drink now refilled by a waitress that passed by seconds ago. Suddenly his earpiece rings and he taps it twice, the buzz coming to life.

“You know what you're looking for?” Akaashi's voice soft in his ear. He looks across the room to see the black-haired man leaning against the bar, staring at the in his drink in his hand with disinterest. To why he was here accompanying Iwaizumi on his task was a mystery but if anyone could make him out of a mess, it was Akaashi.

“Sato Fukuzawa.” he takes a sip from the foaming drink beside him.

“He’s here somewhere, keep a look out.” and he hums. He looks back up and the man was now walking off the dancefloor and in his direction.

This will be interesting.

“On a second thought, I’m going offline for a couple hours.” with the signs of protests, he tucks the earpiece into his pocket.

 “What’s a lonely handsome person like you doing all alone and by yourself?” He sweeps his feet on the table, a pair of black Converse in front of him. His smile is poisonous.

  _He’s dangerous._ Iwaizumi thought, he was in it deep taking a liking for this stranger.

“Sitting in a booth waiting for some pretty boy like you to approach me.” His voice drips with sarcasm, but he only scoots closer.

“That’s a bit unfair don’t you think Iwaizumi?” His heart quickens, how did he know his name? He used a fake name when he went undercover but only kept his last name, how’d he get caught?

But he only tilts his head back and laughs lightly, “I heard a man over there use it, I assume it’s yours.” And he grins, and he can breathe again. He was smart.

 “Partially.”

 “Oikawa.” He says and he’s confused.

 “A name for a name.” Oikawa adds, taking a swing from his beer, the watered down beverage dripping from his mouth as he licks it up. His eyes darken and he can see the different brown flecks in the darker orbs. His cropped blue shirt lifting when he raises his arms, showing off the exposed pale stomach, littered with small scars.

“You’re not being very fair now are you?” He growls, grabbing his legs dragging his thighs closer off the table.

Oikawa’s fingers grip his hair and pulled him from the seat, “guess we’re even now.” He whispers. Iwaizumi grabs the top of his shirt and kisses him hard. The kiss is messy and bruising as he pivots Oikawa’s hips and puts him in his lap. His tongue slips in and he rubs and nips along his bottom lip. His arms wrap around his neck, coaxing his warm breath as he breathes heavily. His hands knead his ass as Oikawa squirms slightly and groans.

This was a bad idea.

Yet he keeps on kissing him, twining his soft hair into his hands, Oikawa starts to slide down his chest clinging to his jacket

In between kisses he feels his hands travel down his legs and massages his inner thighs and a low rumble enters the air; it’s coming from him.

“Fuck me.” Oikawa groans, biting his earlobe stirring something in him, he snaps.

“Stand up.” He instructs and Oikawa grins sliding off his lap, and Iwaizumi grabs his wallet and slaps a twenty dollar bill on the table. The waitress comes over to take the empty glass and the money.

“Keep the change.” He demands and she scampers away, and he hears giggling beside him.

“I think you scared her away, Iwa-Chan is scary.” The pet nickname makes him almost grimace.

He turns to Oikawa, whispering for only him to hear. “You too will too, will think of me that way when I’m done with you.” He can see him shiver. Before he leaves, Akaashi glares at him, making eye contact. Quickly he whips out his phone, sending a quick text.

 

       _Be back in the morning, take my car home._

 

 _Don’t do anything stupid._ Is what he gets back and snorts stuffing the phone back into his jeans. Oikawa strolls beside him, humming nonchalantly as if everything was normal. They stop at a dingy hotel across the street, he pays out of courtesy and good manner and Oikawa bats an eye at the gesture.

Cheeky bastard.

The receptionist hands them the key, and they take the elevator up 5 floors. He suddenly grabs his ass making him hiss as Oikawa bites his neck, rubbing against him.

“Aren’t you needy?” He cooes, enjoying the feeble character.

The elevator dings, “I’m just a needy pretty boy right?” and they enter the penthouse.

His lips are on him the moment the door closes, and he welcomes the taste of lime in his mouth as he shoves Oikawa against the door.

He immediately wraps his legs around his waist, scraping his hands on his back, clawing on the clothed material. Their tongues meet and they harshly brush each other, making them both moan at the sudden contact. They part with a lewd pop, and Iwaizumi lifts him, clasping his hands sturdily on his waist carrying him to the clean King sized bed. He throws him, and Oikawa gives a startled shout but quickly quietens when he crawls on top of him. He throws the baseball hat loosely from his forehead, landing somewhere on the floor. He pays no attention and turns back to Oikawa.

“Clothes off.” He instructs, and Oikawa slowly lifts his arms, sliding the shirt off his body. Iwaizumi admires his smooth unblemished skin as he lightly traces lazy patterns on his chest.

Following him, he shrugs off his jacket, and throws his own shirt off. He catches Oikawa staring and gives a rather snarky grin. He gives him a chaste kiss, unbuttoning his jeans. They drap down his knees, and he chucks them off him. His hands rake his legs, kissing his neck. He slings his plaid jacket off his own waist, and slides his pants off leaving him both in their boxers. His lips graze the edge of his pinkened nipple, and Oikawa squirms. He open-mouthed sucked his chest, discoloring the whitened skin. He moves farther down his body until he reaches the hem on his waistband and cups the visible bulge on his front. Oikawa mutters something and he yanks the fabric down.

“Are you ready?” and Oikawa winks.

“Didn’t even have to ask twice.” Iwaizumi ducks down on his cock, and starts bobbing his head in a slow rhythmic pace. His cock hard in his mouth as Oikawa forces him to come closer. He twirls his tongue in a circular motion and Oikawa jumps, making him twitch.

“Hurry up.” Oikawa begs, making go even slower. His hips thrust and Iwaizumi deepthroats, his cock touching the back of his throat. He licks a stripe on the side as he lets go. He slips out of his boxers, and looks up at him.

“There’s no lube.” he says frustratedly, but Oikawa only grabs his fingers and puts them into his mouth, coating saliva and sucks his finger off.

“Will that do?” his voice husky and garbled. Iwaizumi almost laughs at the gesture and slowly enters into his quivering hole, a low cuss is heard as the hot tightness squeezes them inside. He makes his way, stretching him and scissoring him. He felt himself get harder, and Oikawa groans, withering beneath him. He grows more restless, and Iwaizumi hadn’t take it anymore. He grabs his pelvic and pulls him even closer.

He mumbles, “I can’t wait any longer.” and Oikawa runs a hand through his hair, sweaty but it was hiny beautiful sweat that somehow made him look even sexier. He knew that without lube would painful but he was running high libio, his body to fill him with his cock.

 

You could say that he forgot about what he was even supposed to do.

 

“Come on.” Oikawa pleads, and he positions himself at his entrance. He could see the desperation in his eyes, and it made him hungrier. He pushed himself inside of him, and he moaned at the contact, he was still a little tight.

“Shit.” he cussed, hovering over Oikawa; his eyes were half-open and dazed. He slipped in and out steadily. He leaned back, pressing deeper in his body, as he moaned. God it felt so good, grasping his thighs that were now littered with bruises made by him minutes ago. His nails scratch his back as he finds something to hold on. Soon he’s thrusting fast inside of him.

The brunete threw his head back again, “Fuck you feel so good.” Iwaizumi gasps. He hits deep, and Oikawa makes a muffled scream. He glances from where his head was buried in the crook of his neck. His skin glistened with shined sweat, his hair was now a mess; sex hair. He looks swim in the pools of brown oak as he stared into his pupils.

He thrusts faster, getting faster, and Oikawa clings tighter. The room is filled with prurient and lustful noises and Iwaizumi to hit just right, sending him into a puddle of pleasurable sounds. He almost feels bad for the rest of the guests on the floor.

“Ah-- yes, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa gapes out, and he hits that same spot, rotating his hips, causing for them to buck upward.

“Fuck.” he snarls, grabbing his hands and holding them above his head, driving into him more and more.

“Iwa-chan! I want more!” he crept his hand around Oikawa’s cock soaked in precum, he moves the tip, jerking his hand up and down.

“I’m going to cum- hahh…” Oikawa groans piercingly, as sticky content is slick on his hand. He shudders as he comes, his heart was beating fast, and he sees Oikawa looking flushed.

He falls back into the bed, his back cramped from hunching over.

Then it hits him.

 

This wasn’t a good idea.

*

 

  
The sunlight hit him as he opened his eyes, at first he was drowsy, rubbing his closed eyes as he opened them. Where was he?

Then he looked around and remember, the bed empty and gross, sticky from last night. He remembered him, the delicious pleasure that overwhelmed his body last night.

Iwaizumi.

He sat up, there was no sight of him. The only clothes still discarded on the floor were his own. His body ached, and he stretched reaching his arms outward. He hadn’t that much fun since a while ago. He couldn’t trace it, but something was weird about the man, sure he was hot but a stranger. A stranger that he hooked up with, and left him. His head ached, and his phone buzzes, the vibration ringing throughout the empty room. He padded out of the large bed and makes his way across the room. He picks up his jeans and pulls the noise out of the back pocket.

_Okuma Hidehira Calling……_

He slides the green answer button and places the phone into his ear.

“Oikawa where are you?” his loud voice demands. That wasn’t a good sign. If the bosses right-hand man was calling him, it meant trouble.

“I’m at a hotel.” he sighs, putting the sound on speaker, but regrets it as he shouts at him. He pulls his shirt back on, and stands at the headboard mirror above the table across from the mattress, attempting to fix his hair.

“You know he doesn’t like it when you play with other people.” he warns. He was right, it had been a bad idea.

“Well let him punish me, why are you calling? I’m busy!”

“He wants you now, it’s at the usual place.”

“Yah, yah I know.” and he clicks the end button, mid-pause of Hidehira talking. He dresses into last night’s clothes, reminding himself to change once he’s done with him.

After handing the key back to the front desk he steps into the brisk weather of Los Angeles. The streets busy with cars and tour buses, and billboards showcasing meaningless products. It was different from tokyo, he still didn’t understand how Americans live without milk bread. It was deafening to hear.

He moves through the crowd, to them he was just a naive foreign tourist. The streetlight flashes green and he walks across the cross light leading into one of the hundred’s of  enterprise building that his boss owned. He strolls casually past security as they nod at his presence. He takes the grand elevator lifts him up, and the clear glass reflects below him. He could see small ant-like people swarming like flies, miles away. It chimes, and the door rumbles open.

“Oikawa.” a deep voice says.

He turns and smiles coyly. He slowly approaches the table, the desk chair’s back facing him.

“I’m here, as you requested.” he says impatiently.

“Do you know what happened to a rose when they live without water?”

An odd question.

“They start to wither and die.” he answers.

“I don’t like roses that can’t be used to their full potential, bag him.” and heavy footsteps come up behind, he’s restrained and something covers his vision. He squirms, trying to free himself, but he held down. The scent becomes stronger, and he wrinkles his nose.

It smelled of Kenzo flower.

“You know the drill.”

A pain enters his arm and he starts to shout, to protest this misunderstanding. But it’s no use, he’s knocked out.

He was just a toy that was used repeatedly, he couldn’t break.

 

 

* 

 

 “Don’t even think about it.” he advises the pink-haired man, who crept up on him. He sat at his workstation at Seijoh’s Police Department in the central of Los Angeles. He sat lowly in his swervy desk chair, turning to meet a sheepish smile. Hanamaki stood before him, caught red-handed. He didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was, he had instincts of a cat, he could sense him easily, even a child could spook him better.

“You’re no fun.” Hanamaki pouts drooping his arm on his shoulder, and he flinches. But he pretends not to notice and ruffles his hair affectionately.

“I’m not a dog.” he snarls.

Way to dig yourself a nice deep hole of stupidity. He was tired, his face spoke of restless sleep the night after he left Oikawa to his own expenses. It was cowardly, but he couldn’t risk it. His head filled with his brown eyes and the moans he made when he thickly entered him. He shakes his head, focusing on the computer in front of him. Akaashi had left him a stack of papers that needed to be filled out and let's say that this is an apology for what happened at the club.

As he was thinking of him, Akaashi head ducks into his door. A rare emotion on his face, it was unsettled panic.

“Iwaizumi, get down here now.” and he abruptly pulls out his chair and follows the man with Hanamaki on his tail. Fellow co-works surrounded the large flat screen hanging from the wall, where Kuroo’s dark-hair covers his eye as he frowns at the T.V

“What happened?” and Kuroo nudges toward the screen. It was the news, channeling to the local breaking news anchor. The lady standing in front of the site. The building burning, the remains of the ashes crumbled to the ground.

He pales, he’d been there where he-

“The popular nightclub is attacked, a hostage taken. What will the police do? Sato Fukuzawa strikes again.” she says, and a face flashes as the details of the missing person pops on the screen.

**_Oikawa Takami: age 23, last seen two nights ago at this site._ **

 

Shit, shit shit. He thought. It was his Oikawa, not his. The same, and he looked similar, except his hair was dyed to a cheap blonde color. A disguise. But still, why did this matter to him. He wasn’t anything to him, it was his job after all, and an innocent was involved with something that he failed to accomplish.

A pat touches his shoulder, awakening him from his thoughts, “they called us in, Kenma has the location. Is something wrong Iwaizumi?” Akaashi looks at him with concern and he brushes it off.

“It’s nothing, I’m going to get suited up.” he sweeps past his hand and heads into the weapons room.

They were already gathered there, all of them. Iwaizumi enters, and he goes to pull on the fabricated holster stuck to his gun-proof vest. He places the glasses on his eyes and taps it twice as it connects to his earpiece, already there. His Glock 17 – 9mm waiting for him. He fills his pockets of ammo and sneaks his dagger into his thigh pockets of his business suit, his vest now invisible under his jacket. He fixes his tie, pulling it snug from the collar of his dress shirt.

They board the car, he sits beside Kuroo who’s played with Kenma, as he swats him away irritated.

“Where’s the location?” he faces him, and his gold eyes look up from his computer that he was typing from.

“The enterprise building on Bailey Street.” he answers and his eyes return to the bright screen.

The car rocks to a stop and the lieutenant calls out, “Are you ready?” as Daichi steps out and he does the same. His feet hit the rocky ground and he realizes that they were in the back entrance.

“He has men all over the place, be cautious.” Daichi warns, and they separate. Akaashi is by his side, as they push the door open. No sign of guards and they move on forward. But he hears voices as they near and they duck around the corner. He sees a flow of suited men run past them, they head up the stairs.

Someone spots them and he rolls over to the top of the head of the first few stairs. Bullets whizz past them, and Iwaizumi shoots at him.

The bullet of his own hits his chest and he falls over. He sees more run up to him as he approaches up the stairway. With Akaashi covering his back, he continues to shoot guards that catch up him. As they clear up the stairs, he notices someone from the corner of his eye.

He spins, landing an axe kick on his leg, and he drops the gun from his floor. He punches him and he falls to the ground. Iwaizumi steps on his chest, crouching above him. He grins offhandedly.

“Can’t escape can you?” he whistles, he sees the man's finger wiggling from his gasp trying to throw him off. With a brutal _snap!_ His feet crush his pinkie and index finger. He screeches and he shut him with hand to the mouth.

“Tell me where the hostage is.” he demands and uncovers his mouths as the guard shouts.

“Not a good idea.” he shakes his head, crackling his thumb and with a scream he talks.

“He’s on the top of the floor, he’ll kill you!” he spits out. And Iwaizumi laughs, it was an odd laugh that he rarely did, it was frightening.

“Not if I can’t help it, thank you.” he twirls his knife and stabs him in the stomach, his eyes clouding, as blood flows from his mouth, the wound seeping red. But he feels a slowing breath, and he shoots him.

Right in the head. His blood gushes as he gives a satisfying hum. The thrill drilling into his eyes as Akaashi glares at him, unamused.

“Don’t get distracted.” and he smiles, wiping the blood off his face.

He tucks the dirty knife into his holster, “Let me have my fun.” to which he hears Akaashi mutter ‘too much fun.’

They make their way up five more flights of stairs and they stop at two hallways.

“Hajime, the hostage and Sato are right at the end of the hall, no more guards in sight.” Kenma sats shortly in his ear.

“Take the west wing, I can do this alone.” he waves Akaashi off, and he rolls his eyes. Slowly he looks around, he was right; where did they go? He hides behind the door, and swings it open. He’s greeted with two people enclosed which he assumes is him. They barge at him, knives in their hands and he fakes, fading back. One steps and he ducks hooking his legs, sweeping him to the ground. His arm locks his neck and he gives a quick twist, his neck is mangled as he falls to the ground. Without looking he shoots in the other direction.

A bullet to the head also as he collapses to the ground. His gun is cocked as he looks for the man.

His face whitens as he sees the shattered glass. He runs to the body, the head sacked with a brown bag. He’s practically naked, his clothes ripped, and red marks adorning his body. They looked fresh too, and he almost reaches out to touch them. But backs away when he hears shouts as the rest of the police enter, guns in the air but they lower them when they see him.

“He’s breathing.” he says as they prepare a stretcher, limply taking Oikawa’s unconscious onto the bed. He was barely, only harbored noises showed that he was alive.

A medic approaches him, looking over for wounds but he numbly shakes his head. Only a couple scratches and bruises, as always.

“We didn’t catch him.” he whispers, and Akaashi glumly pats his back before heading out.

An SF mark on the hand. He saw it and looks away. It wasn’t true.  Oikawa is gone and he slumps to the floor.

 

He failed.

 

Once again.

 

 

 *

 

 It’s only darkness when he wakes up, he feels beaten. And he is, as he glances up. He was in a white room, a man sitting beside him. His eyes became unblurred as Oikawa could make out the images clearer.

“Good, you’re awake.” he says, and he squints to see a rather pretty black haired man with blue eyes reminding of the dark sky. He was pretty.

The boss would’ve liked him. And Oikawa tremors at the thought. Was he in a hospital? The beeping sound getting louder, and he panics. Did he get found, did the plan work?  It was done.

“Where am I?” he asks. He leans against the headboard, arching his back.

“You’re at Seijoh’s medical center, you were taken hostage.” and he relaxes, maybe his cover isn’t blown.

“I see.” he mumbles, his cuts now sewn up and he inspects his hands.

“You suffered from head trauma, so your not released yet. Do you have any family?” and he shakes his head, they were gone.

He hands him a bundle of clothes, “You will be under surveillance for a couple days, an innocent has no place here.” “meet me outside once you’re finished.” and he steps outside, leaving him some privacy. He regains his breath and unplugs the IV from his wrist.

The shirt was slightly short, reaching his waist and the khakis were too long, so he rolls them out. He wondered whose clothes were.

Against the wall is the man from before. He moved off and walks off, leaving Oikawa to race after him. He was nimble, the way he walked was graceful.

“I’m Akaashi Keiji.” he turns and keeps walking.

Not a talker it seems.

They enter a large room with work cubicles. The room was loud and filled with people. The place was loaded with guns and weaponry in the far off corner. So this was what a police station looked like. He sees a familiar face, and runs off to see Iwaizumi’s spiky hair.

 

What was he doing here?  

 

“Iwa-chan!” he calls out with Akaashi hollering for him to come back, but he ignores it.

He’s met with dark eyes, not the sultry green eyes he saw two nights ago.

All the sudden he’s rammed to the floor, and he shouts in surprise. Cold metal touches his forehead and he sees it.

A gun pressed to his forehead.

He growls, wedging him into the floor.

 

“I know who you are Oikawa Tooru, I’m going to kill you for working with that murder.”

  



	2. Young and Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my long absence! i hope this makes up for it- p.s changed some tags and added an extra chapter!
> 
> enjoy!

Will you still love me  
When I'm no longer young and beautiful?  
Will you still love me  
When I've got nothing but my aching soul?  
I know you will, I know you will  
I know that you will  
Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

~ _Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Ray_

 

After returning back to the station, shoulders drooping in a wilted manner, he slugged down at his desk. It was only 3:00, and Iwaizumi desperately wanted to go home. He could, but he was due to a briefing with the chief in 10 minutes. So meaning, that was crossed off his list.

He was sweaty and stiff from the fight, his muscles were screaming at him to catch his breath, but they knew that he couldn’t do that. Once they had returned from the enterprise, the news of Fukuzawa’s escape spread like wildfire. He had to deal with noisy news reporters, people who wanted to ask him questions were all waiting at the station. In response, he only said ‘fuck off’ and sauntered away. He wasn’t in the mood for little games of 21 questions, one-sided style.

Iwaizumi had a terrible headache, it was pounding and beating into his head like a meat grinder. He couldn’t concentrate, his fingers stilling on the keyboard that he was destined to type his report on.

A shaking noise is rattled behind and swings around ready to bare fists, “a little rough around the edges aren’t we?” A hesitant laugher and smirk meet his eyes and he sighs wistfully, slouching back into his seat, ignoring Kuroo.

But he still willingly, takes the pill, popping two into his mouth, swallowing the bitterness with a shot of water to chase it down.

“This is a pain in my ass. I hate reports.” He groans.

“I heard that Oikawa is stable, they say he’s gonna be alright, so don’t worry about your pretty little thing.” He pats his back, grinning annoyingly. He bristles, Oikawa was…..

Who was he?

With a whistle, Kuroo leaves. Iwaizumi sits up, typing into the archives of the police records, looking up the name Oikawa. At first showed no results, except for two people. He clicked on it leading him to two profile pictures. A pretty lady in her late thirties and a man with a receding hairline and a twinkling smile popped up.

There wasn’t much information about them, on their profile’s it showed the usual, no charges or felony listed on the server. He rubs his eyes, as they gaze in and out of focus. God, he really could use a glass of whiskey right about now, and Iwaizumi continues to search. They have a daughter, who’s ten years older than Oikawa, named Naomi. They look similar, almost alike for two siblings who are so far apart in age. Their curly mussed brown hair, the twinkling eyes, and fair skin. It all comes back to him.

He goes back to the picture of his mother, zooming in on the features of her neck, the long elegant pale neck, that Oikawa must’ve inherited from. There it was, the same imprinted burn that Oikawa had on his wrist, only while judging from the picture, Oikawa’s was newer, from the raw red outlines that surrounded the initials, _SF._ He would never forget him, or what he did.

 

_As a kid, Iwaizumi was an only child. His neighborhood while full of kids his age, most were older than him and seemed to care more about the type of moisturizer their using than anything, and he was never really fit in at all. Somedays, he’d watch them longingly when he was younger. A swarm of children all with swelling cheeks and innocent smiles, waving their sticks and trinkets from the streets in the air, giggling. Sometimes, they’d notice them through the window and wave, as he used to shyly wave back. He’d never been the most outgoing in the family, that was all his mother._

_His mother was an elementary school right across the road from where he attended, it was clear he hadn’t gotten the patience and goodwill for others as she did. Iwaizumi never had any friends, his only friend was his mother, but no one knew that. At school, he was surrounded by them, but that was only for seven hours a day, minus weekends. His mother was the only that understood him, took care of him when he was sick, feeding him warm oatmeal with the special blueberries she always gets at the supermarket.  In reality, he was closer to her, than his father. His father was a lawyer, constantly tugged into the circle of crime and murder. He’s served both the guilty and the non-guilty._

_In his line of work, he was bound to get caught in the bloodshed of the city. And eventually, his mother got caught in it too. As he grew older, his parents stood more guarded and protective, when it came to after volleyball practice, to always have his phone on ring, to call when arriving at an empty house._

_Of course, his family would be involved with them, the ones that tear families just like him apart. The ruthless murders that are whispered among the streets. Iwaizumi wasn’t dense, he knew exactly what was going on, and yet to chose to be naive and ignore what was happening, for years. After high school, the atmosphere had been different, his parents came home later often, leaving Iwaizumi to clean and complete chores, do his schoolwork._

_After high school when he told his parents that he’d be entering in the police academy, their faces paled with remorse. It was a mistake they repeatedly told him, but he knew deep down that they didn’t want to see him in the line of work where he’d be fighting criminals, and sending them off to jail. But to protect his family, was all he ever asked, and all he ever wished. But wishes don’t always come true._

_On his 19th birthday, he was coming home from the station, after his restless shift. The city light dim as a set of enforcement cars whizzes past him. It was midnight, the city was quiet, especially in the direction that they were heading towards. He swerved his car from the intersection, as a row of cars honks at him, but he doesn’t care. He drives past the speed limit, but there's no one to stop him. The officers stop at a halt finally, ambulances surrounded on all sides. He recognizes it was at his own house._

_As if his feet have a mind of his own, he swung the car door, not even bothering to see if he locked it before turning. He flashes his badge to the guarding officers, stretchers were being unloaded from the trucks, police swarmed the crosswalk like flies. He had a really bad feeling right about now, they silently nod at him, and he ducks from underneath the neon caution tape. He could hear the old voices coming from his house, and his face paled. His door was broken, the screws hung loosely at the front of the door. The blood on the floor was still fresh, just dripping in the entryway, leading to the path of the living room. Iwaizumi’s old coffee mug still laying of the brown antique table, across from the sofa, he sat only sat there this morning. His mother’s china shattered, scattered in pieces around the soft carpet, his toe stubbing into one as he treks by._

_This couldn’t be happening, he thought. Maybe there was just a robbery or an accident, this mother would pop out from the kitchen, her warm wrinkling eyes soft with concern squeeze him in a big hug, pinching his cheek that he was okay. His father would too at times like this wrap his arm around him, ruffling his spiky locks._

_The blood runs crimson red, leaking into the ivory tile leading into the kitchen. The bookshelves once bowing because of the number of books on the shelf, now broken, splintered into pieces. The tv’s screen is in pieces, broken glass everywhere. Shit, shit, he runs his hands through his hair, wanting to pull out the strands. His feet walk closer, officers in uniform brush past him, as his knees buckle. His body drops, as his hands become sticky with the blood his hands imprinted in. he knew he was tampering with the crime scene, but who gave a fuck. His parents, his parents were de-._

_That wasn’t even the worst part, the blood matting his hands, his parents lying beside him. Eyes closed, his mother’s damp hair, blood coloring the dark curls framing her face so lovely. His father’s glasses crushed, the rim snapped in half to his right. Bullet to the head, most likely a set up of some sort, and he cranes his eyes to view from the window, maybe from a tree? Their neighborhood was too closed off, how could this be possible?_

_He feels hands, reeling him back. And he turns, slowly, unable to see the blurry image in front of him. Shadows sway around him, and his ears ring. What does he feel right now? Nothing._

_“Iwaizumi, it’s time you leave.” he hears, and arms pull him up to his feet, as he tries to fight back._

_“I can’t.” he chokes back a sob._

_Iwaizumi doesn’t cry, he doesn’t let his emotions get the best of him. Otherwise, it would cloud his judgment. But this time, he was unable to control the fast tears sliding down his face. Akaashi, whom he’s only known for three months at the time, watches him as he cries away. The officers work fast around him, cleaning up the mess, the bloodstains still visible on the carpet. Bits and pieces of glass that he finds wedges in his palm from accidentally stepping in the broken vase._

_He watches, body slumped over, hands curling in hair, feeling helpless, as they whisk away his parents in the stretcher. Concealing their faces, he watches them go one last time, and no one holds him back. He could feel eyes burning into him, waiting for his next move. But he couldn’t be vulnerable, not at a time like this. Instead, his eyes catch on a small detail he didn’t notice before. It was small, the size of a quarter, maybe even smaller. On both of his parent’s inside of their wrists, right below the curve of the palm. It was a brand, he realized, the ones that you normally put on a cow, to mark its place on a ranch._

_Before he could say something, their gone and only Akaashi is waiting for him outside, leaning against the doorframe of the entryway. But of course he’d recognize that mark, it was everywhere. On signs, street walks, traffic lights, garage doors, he knew damn right who that belonged to. He was working on the case a few years back when he was still in the Junior Academy. Iwaizumi knew of the rumors, the monstrous human trafficker,_ _Sato Fukuzawa._

_Only know did he come up. He stands up, tugging his coat over his shoulders. The air was cold now, his gaze low, and he passes by Akaashi who silently follows him back. He doesn’t stop walking._

_“Akaashi.” he calls out from behind him, stopping behind, the small looming shadow standing out in the evening._

_“Yes,Iwaizumi-san?”_

_“Give me everything we know about Fukuzawa.” Iwaizumi says without looking back._

_Everyone forgets about his nineteenth birthday, and he does too. After that day, he doesn’t bother either._

_No, he couldn’t stop working, not until that bastard’s body was buried ten feet deep in his grave than he dreamed to be. Not until he avenged his parents, not until he was pleased. He hasn’t even started, and that was only the beginning._

 

Fuck. He realizes, stopping his typing for a minute. Maybe he was in denial, was Oikawa only a poor pawn in Fukuzawa’s little game. But no one bared his insignia of a brand unless they were one of his precious gems, or a slave ready ball in chain, panting helplessly at his feet. But he saw the way Oikawa greedily lured Iwaizumi in, his sexy and edgy voice, soft and hard at the same time. Leaving him exposed, and uncovered. The way he begged and took the reign of his own leash, ambitious, wild. Only one person could teach him that.

It angers him, that someone so guarded and mysterious was easily broken by Oikawa. It infuriates him, makes him want to punch the wall across him his desk. Unfortunately, Hanamaki from adjacent to him was giving him bewildered and strange looks, so he assumed now was definitely not the right time. He couldn’t contain his anger, he had slept with him for god’s sake. And now, he finds out that he was working for the man he had been so tirelessly been trying to catch, and his only chance slipped away from him right underneath his nose. Not to mention, he had fucking saved the asshole, which was most likely a hoax, Iwaizumi discovers. His pencil crushes in his hand, slicing the edge of his hand, and he throws the remains in the trash.

He hears voices and everyone to stands up. He sees Akaashi, impassive as always, but he’s not alone. Besides him, is Oikawa. His hair is a darker brown, rather than the fake lighter color dye job that he had the last time Iwaizumi saw him. He wears flimsy hospital clothes and a pair of sweats that he knows he borrowed from Akaashi. His eye is still pink, and the neckline of the rugged sweater he wore reveals bruises and scars that haven’t faded away. He wants to smack that oblivious grin off his face as he calls out to him. He moves fast, knocking Oikawa off his feet, crashing on his elbows. He plants the uncocked gun to his forehead, knees stuck on either side of his hips.

“I know who you are Oikawa Tooru, I’m going to kill you for working with that murder.”

And Oikawa gives him a shit-eating grin in return.

“Don’t shoot the victim, Iwa-chan!” he calls out from below, digging the muzzle farther into his temple.

“Your no victim, your a liar,” he growls, as someone tries to pull him back.

Oikawa chuckles, “you got me there.” he holds his hands out in protest. “What are you doing to do about it?” he whispers close in his ear, and his hand loosens on the gun.

Desperate hands try and hold him back, but he whips away, taking the cuff of his collar, pulling him close. “Nothing, right now.” he steps back, as Hanamaki rushes towards him.

Oikawa is taken off guard by his comment and becomes speechless. The gun falls to the floor with a ‘clatter’.

“Iwaizumi, you’re bleeding.” Hanamaki says, snapping him back into focus and he looks at his hand. The wound from years ago had reopened, and his storm-grey ceramic mug is on the floor, no longer intact.

The blood seeping open from the cut is bright red, as Hanamaki hands him a towel, flowing through his hands, an onto the floor. Iwaizumi lets it drip, eyes blank. He grabs the towel and walks away, “bye Iwa-chan!” Oikawa wave and he doesn’t bother looking back, but he knows that behind that light smile, and hearty eyes, he was planning something.

 

*

Oikawa rubs his shoulders, his elbows pulsing and scratched from Iwaizumi’s sudden attack. He watches him go, and almost finally breathes. He was so naive, all along. Thinking that Iwaizumi could’ve been a one-night stand, and just be thrown away to go in for the kill again. That’s how it always went. Only to find that he was working for the police, and a good one at that. He’d heard the rumors all over the office, about how Iwaizumi was a beast. And to state the obvious, he was the one tracking down his boss. If only he could worn him right now, but he was under heavy surveillance, after what happened.

People give him weary glares, and others confused looks, and he can’t blame them. Why the hell was Oikawa still here? Oikawa was out of place in his slugged clothes that Akaashi let him borrow. They allow him to grab his things, due to currently residing under the protective order being sent out. Oikawa couldn’t believe that they actually bought the victim alibi, he sure knows that Iwaizumi didn’t. Unfortunately, his house is only a block away from the police station, but that meant that he was trusted to only have a undercover cop on standby while he got his things.

“You have an hour, a minute after, and we’ll send in the swat team.” a man with outrageous, black bed-headed hair with a smirk on his face instructs him, who then later introduces himself as Kuroo.

He can’t tell if he was joking or not, and silently nods. His run down apartment on seen better days of the neighborhood are brick with slightly cracked windows on the top balconies. He finds the key in his wallet that he found in the back pocket of his sweatpants, Akaashi probably put it there. He walks up the stairs, there were no elevators, only the rickety pathed stairs that were on the verge of crumbling from the lack of support or cement.

At the fifth floor, he arrives at his door, unlocking the front with the rattling set of keys, and slowly swinging it open. It smelled of old socks and sweaty sex, and Oikawa wrinkles his nose in disgust. It’s been days since he’s taken the garbage. The countless take-out boxes of moldy lo mein from his favorite chinese restaurant, and crusty cheeseburger wrappers are thrown all over the coffee table. Dishes are stacked a mile high, the broom was at sticking out of the closet, and he decided to take advantage of the time. He had a half an hour, he could call _Hidehira, he’ll be bound to answer, whereas_ Fukuzawa barely ever checks his voicemail. He was his personal assistant for a reason.

He gets to work, cleaning out the paper trays, halved chopsticks, plastic to-go lids and containers. He runs out of dishwasher soap at some point and runs the sink with water, until they get clean. He throws out garbage bags, stained bedsheets, sweeps the hardwood floor in the living area, and the rugs in the master. He takes a shower, the first one in days actually. He runs the steaming hot water under his face for fifteen minutes, a luxury that is. He rubs his skin, cleansing all scent of him. The cherry blossom soap is gelled and cool in his hand, falling down his skin.

He changes, grabbing a duffel bag of most of his things, he never had much to start with, Oikawa had been planning on selling the apartment anyway, skipping town for a while. He feels sorry for the landlord, she let him pay the rent later, for the third time in a row now. He folds his old clothing, reminding himself to give it back to Akaashi. He’s drying his hair, water droplets sliding down his neck as he checks his phone, no missed calls so far. He still had a half an hour to spare. He was seriously thinking about leaving now, he could escape all of this, this big mess.

“If you even think about leaving, the boss will surely kill you this time.” someone snickers from behind him.

He sighs, “you never really did understand the meaning of privacy did you?” he snickers, as Daishou moves from the kitchen, drinking a glass of nikka on rocks on a coaster. He moves across silently, of course, Oikawa wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“I thought we were way past that.” he purrs, swirling the ice in the glass slowly.

“We were never there to begin with.” he clarifies, moving past him to mop the floors around the island.

“You’re no fun anymore, has being Fukuzawa bitch changed you?” Daishou asks, flicking tongue around the rim of the glass.

He lowers his voice, tilting his head back, “are you jealous?”

Daishou takes out the malt whiskey, flipping the malt glasses and pours Oikawa some, which Oikawa refuses, and he rolls his eyes.

“The police are under heavy surveillance of me, they’ll be bound to find out if I drink.” he explains.

“Buzzkill.” Daishou mutters before with a flick of a wrist, downing with one gulp. Oikawa kicks him in the shin lightly.

“What are you doing here? Doesn’t the boss have you on a job?” he asked, knowing that Daishou most likely at this point of the day would be out finishing the boss's messes. Meaning in the end, killing somebody. But that's just how it worked in this world, in order to survive.

Oikawa wasn’t a feeble hungry sex-driven whore all the time, he’d coax them in with his feminine body, and sweet words in the bed, a bullet to the head was the fasted way to go, but he knew that Daishou tended to take his with his killings. He wasn’t merciful, and often toyed with them, tortured them so much, letting them believe they might have a chance to live. They die of shock, or blood loss before Daishou could actually let the real games begin. Oikawa was proactive, but he barbanic, he was still human. The only thing that allowed him to keep on living.

“It’s my day off, plus someone’s gonna have to look over you.” he snorts, as Oikawa gawks, smiling at the sincerity in his voice.

Oikawa lounged on the ivory couch, lifting his feet on the maroon coffee table, stretching his legs out leisurely. He turns on the tv, blurring out Daishou’s tongue clicking, a habit he does when he’s thinking. He’s out for casual wear he notices, it wasn’t too late, only around four after he locates the his old digital clock from underneath the rumble mass of old food he’d just taken out. He’s hungry, his stomach is starting to rumble but there’s no food in the house. The news plays the weather, as the overly cheerful weather girl displays the chilly brewing storm into the night.

“You have that look.” Daishou says, sliding onto the couch, legs nimbly galloping over the top, plopping right beside Oikawa.

Oikawa frowns, pouting his lips out in confusion, “no I don’t.” Daishou flicks his tongue, wrapping his arms around the head of the sofa, whistling to what he swore was a mix of the wedding march and ‘happy birthday’.

He rubs his knuckles furiously, letting the scabs caress his fingers carelessly. The back of his hand, still soft from the lavender lotion he’d put on from after his shower. Daishou smells it too, and eyes slither in disgust.

“You smell like a walking botanical garden.” Daishou laughs airly. Oikawa reaches for his curls, twisting them on fingers idly.

“I think I smell lovely!” he says, eyes glittering.

“Again, a botanical garden.” he mocks him, giving a peace sign and throwing him an extra fake wide smile.

“At least I don’t smell like I fell in pig’s blood everyday.” Oikawa retorts, and the room is silent.

He knew that he took it way to far, and Daishou does too, but he doesn’t show it. He downs the rest of the alcohol, flicking the knife from his pocket back and forth into his hand. The glass sweats from beneath the cheesy antique San Diego coaster that his sister bought him a while ago. The pocket knife Daishou supported, Oikawa knew it was a gift, engraved with italian cravings. It was exceptionally beautifully, and it fit Daishou perfectly. Oikawa guesses that Daishou never actually used the weapon when it came to fighting, it was too delicate. Daishou had always been observant, feeding on others weaknesses, hitting them until they break. But he knows that Daishou once had a life, a group of friends, a career maybe even a future, once in another time possibly a lover. In a way, Oikawa and Daishou were alike, both two birds of the same flock.

“Don’t go thinking that were the same.” Daishou interrupts him, and oikawa stares at him, as he looks out the window, having moved away from the couch to the small cushioned daybed that Oikawa had paid extra to have installed.

“Dai-chan..” he murmurs, nervously pulling the thread of his velvet pants.

“Stay safe Tooru, and don’t be a pain. Though, it's what you do anyway,” he says, and suddenly there’s a knock on the door. Oikawa scrambles to open it, as Kuroo steps through surveying the area closely.

“I thought I heard voices, are you ready?” he asks, and Oikawa silently nods, taking his duffel bag from the bedroom.

“It must’ve been the tv.” Oikawa chimed, there’s no sight of Daishou, the window open, making the air seem chillier.  

“The windows open.” Kuroo points out, the satin curtains whipping around the window sill.

“The wind probably unhatched the lock.” he says waving the comment off.

He could lie, it wouldn’t be too hard, Oikawa thought. After all, it’s what he did for a living.

 

*

Chief Ukai lets him off for the rest of the day, much to his chagrin. He’d rather spend the whole night at his desk finishing his report, than sit at home in an empty house. They confiscate his gun until tomorrow, and Akaashi only sighs, giving him the signature ‘I told you so’ look.

“Fuck off.” he barks, shoving his hands into his pocket and walk out of the station. He finds himself walking into the nearest bar, owned by his closest friend Matsukawa Issei. The setting is jazzy and loose, tonight must be an open bar, because the music is slower, less hype.

He walks up to the counter, sliding onto one of the many round chairs, and loosened the tightening knot from his tie, till it’s hanging around the white collar of his dress shirt. He scrubs his head tiredly, combing through his hair. His shirt is wrinkled by now, but he doesn’t care anymore.

“I was wondering when you’d stop by.” an amused says in front of him.

He looks up to see Matsukawa cleaning a wine glass, a white handkerchief in his hand. His dark eyes spotting Iwaizumi easily. The bar is slow tonight, a few comer’s in and out as they go.

“The food’s good here.” he says, as Matsukawa slips him a cold beer, already opened, and Iwaizumi takes it gratefully.

“So why’s the real reason you’re here?” he leans down on the counter, the lights above them bright in his eyes.

“Like I said-” he starts, and Matsukawa stops him, passing him an order of Agedashi tofu.

“Eat up, it’s on the house.” Matsukawa nudges the plate in front of him, and Iwaizumi takes a sip of his beer, letting the runny acohol glide down his throat.

“Is this what they call bribery these days?” he grins from the rim of the beer.

“You could call it that.” he smiles, obviously not letting go.

“Nothing, just some work stuff.” he says, digging into the tofu, grinning at the extra chili paste he’d added, Matsukawa knew that he preferred it spicy.

But it was driving him insane, knowing that he was useless while Oikawa was walking freely probably, and Fukuzawa’s still out there. His fingers began to tremble, as he steadily takes out his cigarette packet from his jacket, turning to Matsukawa.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asks, and Matsukawa shrugs.

“Smoke away.”

He flickers the lit on the cigar, giving it a good huff before fully putting it into his mouth, the smell of nicotine releasing into his nose, as he savors the smoky taste. It tasted horrible with the lingering spice and beer in on his taste buds, but he pays no attention. One minute, two minutes go of silence, the clatter of dishes in the back kitchen every so often. The sun goes down fast, as the stars hang in the sky, voices spiral around his ears, as more people come in and Matsukawa slaps his shoulder before attending to other customers.

“If it isn’t our friendly neighborhood cop.” he recognizes that voice, as it moves from behind him, sitting beside Iwaizumi.

Oikawa gave him a petty smile, raising his hand, “a margarita please!” he calls out to the female bartender nearby, as she blushes and runs off with his order.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, slamming his bottle a bit aggressively.

“Taking the night off, how about you?” he asks, smirking, because he already knows the answer, and takes his chopsticks and takes a bit of his tofu. He squirms, scrunching his mouth, “spicy.”

“You’re supposed to be under surveillance.” Iwaizumi bites out, and Oikawa shrugs, and pleasantly giggles along with the bartender when she arrives with his drink.

“Testu-chan is very kind. Unlike you, Hajime.” Oikawa takes a sip, exhaling in relief, the margarita's salted around the rim of his glass, as he licks the salt away with his tongue.

“Don’t call me Hajime, you don’t get to say that.” he bristles, as Oikawa startles him by grabbing his tie. He pulls him close, and he can smell the minty taste of orbit gum and sweet.

“I’m hurt, even after what it seemed that you had my dick in your mouth, only two nights ago. You seemed to have enjoy it. Isn’t that right Hajime?” he whispers softly, biting his earlobe.

He moves ago, and Oikawa hums contently, “again, why are you here?” he asks, the buzz of the alcohol starts to take effect, as he holds it down.

“I need your help.” Oikawa says, rubbing the end of the glass, almost nervously.

“With what? Fixing that attitude of yours?” he grins, as Oikawa face falls, biting his lip in annoyance.

“Killing Sato Fukuzawa.”

  
  
*

Iwaizumi starts laughing, very loudly in fact, and some bypassers give them questioning looks. Oikawa’s surprised, unable to speak, as Iwaizumi clutches his stomach. What was so funny about this?

“I’m sorry, but you're asking the wrong guy.” he says, wiping his eyes, his gaze hardening again.

“You know everything about him, the night we met, you were undercover weren’t you?” Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi puts the cigarette in his mouth.

“What’s it to you, you lick and grovel at his feet.” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa’s eyes darken.

He’d been living under his world for years, buried in sex, blood, and drugs. There was no escape, and right now, Iwaizumi Hajime was his only savior.

“You.” he says, and Iwaizumi’s widen, flicking his cigar into the nearby ashtray.

“I’ll do it-” he says, and Oikawa smiles, but Iwaizumi stops him, “under one condition.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’ll be the one sending him to hell.” his voice deep, like coals being rocked against each other, burning into Oikawa.

He sticks out his hand, “deal.” and he shakes his hand firmly. Oikawa’s phone goes off with a chime, as he slides a twenty dollar bill on the table.

“Keep the change, we start tomorrow.” he says, waving good-bye.

He steps outside, tightening the scarf around his neck. He opens his phone, and his heart drops.

_Incoming text from Sato Fukuzawa_

**Tooru, the plan is going along just as we hoped.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates next sunday


	3. Real Life

 

 Heaven only lets a few in  
It's too late for me to choose it  
Don't waste precious tears on me, I'm not worth the misery  
I'm better off when I'm alone

 

 

  _~Real Life by The Weekend~_

 

It’s one of those nights, they happen often. He was no stranger to the nightmares that inhabited his mind. They started after the funeral of his parents, for the past four years Iwaizumi hasn’t been able to sleep for more than four or five hours at most. His bed is almost always tucked in and tidy. The sheets rarely wrinkled, and fresh. He's never had anyone over, much less someone to actually put good use into his bed. Naps are only a good thirty minutes if he doesn’t distract himself with work. Iwaizumi’s been reliving the same nightmare, the same look on his mother’s face, when she collapses to the floor, blood leaking from the deep wound. The same wound that beside her, his father adorned.

It was the same one, the same old sickness. Only a few people knew about his condition. If the rest of his co-workers had any intel of how many hours of sleep Iwaizumi got every night, let's just say that the lieutenant wouldn’t be happy. Sugawara, the medic locally stationed on the second floor, prescribed him his medicine. He takes them every evening, the only thing that managed to keep its place on his bedside table.

Next, to Sugawara, Akaashi is the only other person who knows about it. He was there after the funeral, after the burial, after the black suits, and rainy days. He wasn’t only his partner, he was his friend. Not many people who first meet him understood that underneath the heavy exterior of black curly hair, and dark unreadable eyes, Akaashi was young and callow for his age to be working with the police force, is a few years younger than most. Their unlikely friendship, with late nights of sake and beer, and stake-outs. It was only recently that Akaashi accomplished the job of sweeping away Iwaizumi’s hookups. He’d get carried away with boys, and girls, all charming and too flirtatious for his taste. Yet, he still gave them the chipped grin, and the dark eyes, and was easily in their pants only an hour later. It worked like a charm.

Iwaizumi wasn’t a player, he had manners, he had to keep up his good cop reputation, be the gentleman of the night. He pays for the expensive drink cost, that manages to make him broke every time, the hotel, the next morning. He was never good about the next morning, as being inferred from the last time; the no-strings-attached with Oikawa. He’s unfailingly been shitty with communication.

When he gets a call from Akaashi, the alarm goes off, and the clucking noise of his ringtone beats his brain. He’d have to change that as soon as possible, before Iwaizumi would decide against his better judgment, to chuck his phone across the room. He lets it go to voicemail, knowing it wasn’t wise to leave Akaashi like that. Iwaizumi had a day off didn’t he? Why not use it now, and that included not having to answer his persistent partner at the moment. He rolls over, letting his arms rest over the headboard. His bed seems to be the warmest thing he can cling to, as he lets the heavy blanket fall to his thighs. The heater finally works at his apartment, the old man was able to find an HVAC technician to swing by his apartment. And now, he lazily fell into the bed, the heat from outside soaking through the windows.

He knew the water was working at least, he lived in luxury, considering his job. It paid well, plus the income left over from his parent’s death was enough to last him a good proportion of his lifespan. Iwaizumi didn’t blow his money away, he was careful, the type of person to save all of his money in a bank account, all taken cared of by Ukai. the closest father he has had in a long time was banning him from entering the office for thirty-two more hours. (that’s right, he’s counted down since the minute he stormed out from the station.)

  
Since then, he drinks only one more glass of whiskey. Smoked ten more cigarettes, and panicked only once throughout that whole ordeal, pretty impressive on his part. Iwaizumi’s life has been absorbed by work, he doesn’t like to go out for childish things like Karaoke that Sugawara and Kuroo like to convince him to go with them after work. The bar was enough for him, and he had plenty of fun there. He could let his guard down, drop all defenses with the natural effects of alcohol. Even if he couldn’t control the words that spilled from his tongue, then Iwaizumi’s mind would be sedated from the monsters that crept from the back of his mind.

The voice mail started with a buzz, dissolving into the familiar sound of Akaashi, he closes his eyes, not bothering to lift an eyelid to hear this one. Voices creak in the background as his phone beeps.

“Koutaro, I’m in the middle of-” the constant shuffles and laughter behind Akaashi’s voice made Iwaizumi’s ears go red, and he contemplates hanging up.

“Hello Hajime, knowing you wouldn’t answer, I’m relying on the message that you're still under 24-hour suspension under orders of Chief Ukai. But I’m sure you’ve already discovered this by now.” a small chuckle under his breath is heard and Iwaizumi lifts up a weak smile.

“You know me too well.” Iwaizumi mutters.

He continues over his voice, as Iwaizumi lifts up his head on the pillow, to listen better, “well Captain Sawamura, we’ve caught two of Fukazawa’s dealers last night, there being held in custody right now.” and Iwaizumi flips the sheet.

“I know what your thinking is that you can come by and interrogate the suspects, but if I catch you even five-feet from the station, I’ll tell the chief permanently suspend you for a month.” Akaashi warns, and the line clicks dead.

He left in complete silence, unsurprised at the dry threat that Akaashi gave him, it was nothing unusual. Not to mention, Akaashi was not be fooled with, and Iwaizumi learned that the hard way. He’ll know that Iwaizumi got the message, so he doesn’t bother texting him. He’ll know that Iwaizumi got the message, so he doesn’t bother texting him. Rather, he removes the rest of the covers, as they accidentally slide off his bed. His clothes are mucky and smell like the remnants of lemons and margarita’s and he wants to get rid of that scent as soon as possible.

The carpet grazes his bare feet, as the clock straight from his bed reads noon, he must’ve slept in. he didn’t go to sleep until later this morning. The ethanol from the beer didn’t hit him until only recently. In the bathroom, the mirror reflects in his eyes, as he winces, wrestling the shirt over his head. He moves the remaining articles of clothing from his body, and turns the knob. Hot water comes pouring into the bathtub, filling the surface. He’s not one to take baths, but he was no rush, was he?

Once the water fills up to the anticipated height, he slowly leans against the cold marble carved of the tub. It stings startlingly against his naked back, but the water is warm and relaxing. His knuckles calloused and dark, feel rough. Hands scarred by the guns and knives he’s held to save lives, and other to end them. The scar, cuts from the edge of his hip, snaking around below his ribs. It was ugly, lighter than the rest of his skin. The small bumps crisscrossed where the stitches used to be.

He releases his hands from gripping too tight at the scar, letting them fall to his sides. It was dumb, a twenty-three-year-old man taking a bath, in a tub where his legs nearly stick out from the top. He felt silly, sinking even further. The light shines in the face, the hollers from below, street vendors selling food, the smell wavering up the floors. Tour buses, cars, even birdies are on the streets at this time. That is everyone except him, even stupid Shittykawa is probably wandering free, like a lynx. Prowling and proactive, and most of all uncaged.

His toes curl at the thought of him, and he wonders where he went after they parted. God, why can’t he get him out his head, and he wonders where he went after they parted. God, why can’t he get him out his head? He exhales, hot breath steaming into the air, resting his neck on the edge of the bathtub. Iwaizumi wants to melt under the warmth of the water, but nows that his skin would turn to sludge if he did. Just another minute. He promises himself, scrubbing his arms with the chilled sandalwood soap above him. Suddenly, he hears a crash, it’s faint but Iwaizumi’s always had perfect hearing. He goes still, slowly stepping out of the bathtub. The white towel nearby him, he wraps around his naked waist. Wet droplets fall from his front, and he grabs the pocket knife hidden in his back pocket of his pants.

He did not need a robbery right now, in fact this was the farthest away from what he had in mind. Things change and plans well, don’t always go the way they want…. The opaque door slides gracefully, as he moves with his heel. The knife pressing into his palm. He debates on calling out to the intruder, then pointing out to himself how dumb and continues to walk toward the noise. He stops at the corner of the living room, that merges with the kitchen. Rustling and footsteps, light and in different directions, what there more than one. God, this totally not what he needed. Should he call the police, wait a minute he is the police. He was a damn grownup and a fucking undercover who couldn’t handle a simple home invader but had survived bombers and mafia. He musters all the courage he can get, without his dignity making the tightly wrapped towel fall and steps into the kitchen. It’s not dark, even though all his lights are turned off, except for one.

A shadow slides through the counter space, revealing a familiar face, and he drops the knife, staggering back a step. The towel slips from his hips dropping down to the ground.

“Fuck!” he blurted out.

He squints, realizing who the intruder is, “Oikawa?” a cheeky brunette grins widely. No shame of seeing Iwaizumi naked is shown, but then again, it’s not the first time.

He laughs, dressed in the same finer clothes he wore the first time he met him. Red satin jacket, rather feminine looking, with the black lace around the shoulder. His hands cuffed into the back pockets of the dark slim jeans almost as tight as the night at the club. They curve around the round of his legs and thighs. The black loose choker sat around his neck. The white Adidas pairing nicely, and he finds himself staring, and ducks his head down. He was still naked, and Oikawa was still smiling at rather oddly. He could smell the tangy citrus from the lip balm he uses.

“I’d put some clothes on, Iwa-chan.” he giggles, nudging to his body. And Iwaizumi scowls, throwing the discarded towel in his face, and he catches it.

“You scared me, how did you find my house?” he shrugs, refusing to spill, and Oikawa wants to strangle him for that.

“It’s too early for this shit.” he rubs his temples, turning around.

“You haven’t eaten, right? Aka-chan wants to meet us for breakfast.” he chirps, spinning to a stop.

He doesn’t ask who ‘Aka-chan’ is, but he can only assume it’s Akaashi. Iwaizumi ponders when did the two of them get so chummy.

“Just let me get dressed.” he clenched his fist, tightening, and unclenching back and forth.

“Oh, don’t on my part.” he hears Oikawa mumbles, and Iwaizumi wipes around.

“Stay out here, or I’ll kick you out.” he warns, and Oikawa happily nods.

He makes a point, by slamming the door, and knowing that Oikawa’s already won.

 

  
*

In the next hour, he discovers a couple things about Iwaizumi Hajime. Oikawa already knows the basic; eye color, his eyes were a Kaleidoscope, he looked into his pupils and saw copper, hazel, brown, grey- and green. And his eyes were expressive, they’d shrink and narrow down when he was angry. Widen when he was surprised or taken back. How they’d close when he slept, and when he opened them, but he doesn’t know about that part. And he planned on keeping it that way.

He knew somewhat about his history, he graduated high school at seventeen, born June 10, only more a month younger than him. Zodiac sign, a Gemini. Enjoys drinking, smoking, and agedashi tofu. Now this information was all irrelevant, only he was asking him on a date, which was not the case. He picks these small insights along the way, that night at the club, he knew he had a revolver behind the plaid shirt he wore. He knew he liked a single malt whiskey, iced. He liked foreplay, only on days when he felt greedy. Oikawa knew about his parents, but he guesses that Iwaizumi had some knowledge that Oikawa was confided in that information.

Oikawa sensed that Iwaizumi had good taste. For such a boring officer, he could dress down decently. The grey muscle henley shirt cutting to the bottom of his elbows, stopping at the scar just visible enough. The button popped open, exposing the start of his collarbone. His legs were an eye-sore but in an incredibly aggravating good kinda-way. Paper Denim jeans, rips in the seams, with the loops of overall straps hanging at his waist. The old mucky beige chucks were obviously not cheap, despite the uncleanliness of the soles. Oikawa suspected he had money, but he wasn’t one to spend it wondrously.

He’d shaved when he returned into the living room, fully dressed, not that it seeing him naked one more time would be glorious. But he doesn’t mention that inside horny thought and plasters the best smile he can summon to him, and Iwaizumi walks past him. The door opens, and Oikawa hastens behind, as they walk down the hall. It was a nice place, better than the apartment he’d been living in the past five years. It was polished and modern. Especially Iwaizumi’s apartment, as if it was customized to meet his special tastes. Oikawa wanted to ask him about it but settled on staying quiet.

Outside of the parking lot, was the garage. But they didn’t turn there and instead pursued on walking, and Oikawa turned to search for a similar black Mazda that he saw him drive in a couple nights ago. Iwaizumi watches him, smirking.

“Where’s the car?” he asks, and Iwaizumi laughs, gesturing to the full parking lot.

“Were walking, you’ve got your walking shoes don’t you?” he winks, and Oikawa scowls.

“It’s cold.” Oikawa shivers, as he strides to meet Iwaizumi’s fast walking pace. The chill in Los Angeles was rare. But when it was warm, the breeze made it a whole lot colder.

“Los Angeles is a lot colder, than Santa Monica during this season.” Iwaizumi notes, shoving his hands in pocket, moving them around.

Santa Monica? Is that where he grew up? He’s only been there once or twice when he was younger. The beaches there are amazing, his family always did summer trips to the shores. The pier, eating cotton candy and mochi while his sister’s hand in his small one. The last time he went there was years ago, and when he heard Iwaizumi say that, he remembers the bluest waters and tawny, grainy sand squeezing in between his toes.

“Is that where you were born?” the question comes out before he could stop it, and looks the other way.

Iwaizumi’s hazel eyes are fixated on the sky, the sun is out now. Cyclists bypassing them, kids walking with their parents, ice-cream in their hands. Couples in sundresses and their best khaki polos in corduroys for this weather hold hands and sneak kisses around them. He will admit, it’s perfect weather, and it seems like Iwaizumi’s enjoying it too. He doesn’t look like the type that spends too much in bright places, rather than bars and the terrible lighting of his bedroom and office.

“It’s one of the places I grew up in.” Iwaizumi finally answers.

He isn’t able to reply back because Iwaizumi footsteps halt to a cease. They’re in front of a busty industrial joint-diner. He’s been almost to every single burger and milkshake, Thai, Indian, even seafood dive in California, but never seen this one before. The light-up sign reads Irihata’s Diner, nothing too remarkable about the restaurant, but there were a few cars along the driveway, signaling that they did have some business. He heard Iwaizumi mutter ‘he’s already, dammit’. They walk in together, as the greasy and salty aroma of steak fries past by them, and he licks his lips. The jukebox is bursting with old American tunes, that he barely knows the lyrics to. His mother was Japanese, so he was fluent in both languages.

The leather booths are filled with people of all ages, and the counter bar has snacks and sweets. He starts to move towards it, but his hand is tugged away, and he’s being dragged to the corner booth, where Akaashi sits. His long over sweater hug around his wrists, soft and too hot for this weather. The bags under his eyes are noticeable, but Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything when they first approach the table. Oikawa waves, smiling at the younger officer.

“Glad you could get our table.” Iwaizumi grins, lowers himself onto the booths. Oikawa follows him, and a busboy comes over to hand them a menu, giving it to only Oikawa.

The boy is only a handful years younger than them, with short black hair cutting over his eyes. He looks bored, hand on hip, a pencil in his ear, not even bothering to take it out. There’s settle relief in his dull brown eyes, as the busboy and Iwaizumi share a firm handshake.

“Glad to see your not dead yet. Irihata-san will be happy,” he says bluntly, and Iwaizumi faintly flinches, but only Oikawa notices it, as Akaashi gazes them from his water.

“I see you still have that tongue of yours, Kunimi.” Iwaizumi says, and he hugs him.

“Only learned from the best.” Kunimi smirks lightly.

“This is Oikawa.” Iwaizumi gesturing to him, for the first time, pointing his thumb in his direction. There’s settle relief in his dull brown eyes, as the busboy and Iwaizumi share a firm handshake.

Kunimi stares at him hard, “this the guy you hooked up with?” he nods to Oikawa, and he turns beet red, burying himself in the menu. Iwaizumi glares at Kunimi and turns back to Oikawa quickly.

“Tell Kindaichi I’ll have the usual, what do you want Oikawa?” and he skims through the menu, the handful selection is too much for his stomach, and he was feeling hungry.

“I highly suggest the strawberry milkshake, it’s quite famous around here,” Kunimi says, and Oikawa numbly nods along.

“I’ll take the best burger you have.” he flashes him his best grin, and closes the menu, handing it over to Kunimi as he snaps it close.

“Iwaizumi-san, you did well.” and Iwaizumi only indifferently shrugs.

He turns to Iwaizumi, who’s leaning against the booth, shoulders drooping, “your usual?” he asks.

“The owner were old friend’s of my parents, I’ve been going here ever since I was a kid. Same with Kunimi, and Kindaichi.” Iwaizumi says. Oikawa is content with the answer so he sits across from Akaashi as they make small talk over the table.

He drums his fingers on his chin, tattling to the music of the brown table top. He plays with the rings on his fingers, twisting them around his index finger until minutes later his milkshake comes. A pot of coffee is set in front of Iwaizumi, and Akaashi’s earl grey in a petite espresso cup. Iwaizumi pours a cup of black coffee, the bitterness of the coffee grinds consuming his nose. Oikawa takes a sip of his own drink, it’s sweet, just how he likes things. He was right, it was good, and he found that he taking more and more sips. The whipped cream covering his lip, and he wipes it away with a grin.

“It’s good.”

Oikawa listens to them, as they talk. It’s an unlikely dynamic, Akaashi’s calm collected voice, and Iwaizumi firm deep voice. Like a rock in a river, rippling past the waves. He’s near the window, getting the view of the carnival nearby. The screams and laughs ring in his ear. Oikawa hovers over his milkshake, sipping it quietly. It brings him to peace, the low chatter, the music speakers above, lively and tranquil. He’s never been able to experience this, and when he does, he takes in every second of it.

“Oikawa, oi, earth to Oikawa!” someone calls out to him, and he snaps awake.

The food is being served, and Oikawa gives a watery smile, mumbling a small ‘thank you’. A stockier looking man, hair not quite graying, still an earthy dark brown. A warm smile, lips in a thin line, as he scans Oikawa up and down. Oikawa flabbergasted, rakes his hand through his hair, taking care of the loose wisps of hair that have fallen in his face.

“So this is the boy Kunimi was talking about?” the man says, arms crossed, eyes narrowing.

“Yes Irihata-san, this is him.” Iwaizumi says, and the man laughs, slapping Iwaizumi’s back.

“Lighten up boy, eat up now. You have to save your strength.” Irihata’s eyes wrinkle, and knowingly Oikawa bites into his burger, mustard exploding into his mouth, and he hums in delight.

Iwaizumi takes a bite of his ‘usual’ which turned out to be Tonkatsu and a side of cheesy boardwalk fries. He remembered eating it as a kid, his mother would make the crispy pork on special occasions. Akaashi continues to refill his tea, chewing his raspberry cheesecake.

“I’ve heard on the streets, that Fukazawa is planning on making another move tomorrow night.” he hears Irihata says, and Oikawa pauses.

That’s right, the plan. He drinks his milkshake, downing it to the bottom.

“We’ll catch the bastard.” Iwaizumi growls, and Oikawa’s heart thumps.

We.

After he finishes, Irihata, tries to convince them to stay for their afternoon dessert, but Iwaizumi shakes his head, clapping the back of the man.

“My treat then, see you soon, my boy.” he hugs him tight, then Iwaizumi goes outside to take a smoke, telling him to wait here.

“I have to go, we’ll catch up later.” Akaashi says, throwing down a handful of dollar bills, nodding to Oikawa, and the bell of the door rings, leaving him alone.

He watches the silhouette of Iwaizumi crouch over, as he bends to take a cigarette out his jacket. Iwaizumi’s rough fingers shake underneath the lighter as he flicks it to his mouth. The inhale of smoke comes out his thin mouth. Oikawa turns away, turning on his phone. He had been charging it in his apartment, and after last night, hadn’t bothered to open it ever since. There were several calls from Daishou, Hideira, and of course the boss. He would have to answer them soon or later, and puts it back as Irihata glimpses at him, and he sees that Iwaizumi steps on the cigar, and goes to meet him outside.

“Iwaizumi trusts very few people, don’t take advantage of that.” Irihata says behind him, and Oikawa stops.

“Have a good day sir.” he says, and opens the door, letting the wind solidly hit him in the face. Good, he deserved it.

Iwaizumi goes to meet him, jogging towards Oikawa, “you ready?” and smiles.

“I actually have one more stop to make, if you don’t mind.”

 *

Oikawa insisted that they take the tour buses to San Francisco, paying his way to the top floor of the red bus. The bus crosses over the bridge, as tourists stand below them with their cameras out, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, as the brunette sticks his head over the edge like a dog lapping his tongue out and everything. He looked dorky, but at the same time mesmerizing to watch. He had so many facades, so many personalities that it made Iwaizumi’s head spin. His smile like a ray of sunshine, finding its way into his head. He notices Iwaizumi smiling, and shyly smiles, bobbing his head down, to pull back a piece of hair, his eyes a sparkling toffee color.“We’re close.” Oikawa says, turning away from Iwaizumi.

He rests his head on the railing, holding them in their seat, as the seagulls swarm in the sky. Oikawa looked at peace, as if they weren’t planning a murder, that he was a property to someone, that Iwaizumi once wanted to kill him. It was almost less than a week that they’ve met, and now he’s entrusting his life to kill for him, and the reverse. The world worked in strange ways indeed.

Iwaizumi can hear the ocean as it ripples and bumps in the pavement along the bridge. He’s never had a fear of heights.

They finally arrive, it was feet away from the alley that read ‘no entry’. He helps Oikawa get off the bus, as he leads him in that direction. He gives a loud snort.

“Are you asking me to break the law?” he laughs.

Oikawa dismisses his question, and they walk past the bodyguard at the door, when Oikawa flashes his hand, and the curtains lift up. Everyone ignores them when they enter, too busy with the entertainment at the front of the room. Oikawa effortlessly makes his way to the front, with Iwaizumi on his heel. Iwaizumi knew places like this but never bothered to in, it wasn’t his type of scene. Cheers and dollar bills are thrown, and the glittering men and women dance around the pole. Oikawa has his eyes only one of the dancers, as the music goes to a pause and disco flash among the crowd. The darkly lit room at this time of the day, it was atypical.

Oikawa yells over the music, the last figure on stage, as they look, rather unpleasant to see him. Reluctantly, he walks off stage and meets Oikawa downstage. Glitter sparkles his bare limbs, heavy blue eyeshadow covers his midnight eyes.  
He covers his arms with a large trench coat, leading them to an empty room away from the distractions.

“Why’d you call me Oikawa-san?” the boy frowns, as his make is wiped away, and Iwaizumi blinks back at how young the kid was. He had to be Kunimi’s age at least.

“Just wanted to check in, is too much Tobio-chan?” Oikawa lies, whining slightly.

“Then why’d you have to bring a cop with you?” he asks, pointing to Iwaizumi, and Oikawa gasps.

“It’s ok, Oikawa. I’ve got this.” he comes closer, and the boy moves back, he could see the fear in his eyes.

“My name is Iwaizumi Hajime, I'm not going to turn you in. Can you tell me what’s your name?” he asks gently, as he bites his lips.

“...Kageyama.” he says hesitantly, and Iwaizumi smiles.

“Now, can you tell me anything you know about Fukazawa?” and Kageyama winces at the name, as Oikawa watches him from the plush velvet couch he sat on.

“He’s been taking over more than half of the business in Los Angeles, he plans on ruining the empire. I overheard a couple guys talk about his new plan, but that’s all I know.” he says, defend guarding up, and Iwaizumi suspects that that’s all the kid knows, and is telling the truth, and it was enough.

He smiles, as he notices the SF initials, marked on the inside thigh of Kageyama’s pale built legs, he must be like Oikawa.

“Oikawa-san, I’m sorry.” Kageyama murmurs, and Oikawa looks confused, as the door swings open. A swarm of men in suits surrounds on all sides. And the phone drops from Kageyama’s hands, and Oikawa eyes darken.

“You ratted us out.” he whispers, and a new voice enters the room.

“No, he was helping me, he’s been taught well, after all, you were once like him.” a camera knocks in their direction, as the sound system cracks.

“Fukazawa,” he swore, and Fukazawa laughs, harsh, and amused.

“Hello, what was your name again? Hajime?” and Iwaizumi throws the nearest flower pot of azaleas to his right at the corner wall, and he chuckles.

“Hello, Hajime, and Tooru. It’s good to you again.” he addresses Oikawa, as his body is still.

“I have a deal for you Hajime, and this might benefit you, so I wouldn’t try fighting it.” the guards grab Kageyama, as he yelps buckling into the grip, as Oikawa shouts.

“I have a few business plans I have to attend to tomorrow, and I’d like my prized possession to be there alongside me.” he says, and Iwaizumi’s blood turns to ice.

“Fuck you, like hell I’ll go back to you.” Oikawa spits out, and Fukazawa clucks his tongue, disapproving.

“See if you insist, I’ll be very disappointed Tooru. And you know what I’m like when I’m angry.”

“I’ll kill you goddamnit!” Iwaizumi snarls, and the overhead speakers laugh back at him.

“The choice is yours, so choose wisely.” and the line goes dead.

The lights turn on and everyone is gone, the music is loud from outside, and Oikawa staggers, regaining his balance. Iwaizumi’s hand curls around the dropped phone on the floor. He doesn’t wait for Oikawa to follow him as he pushes his way through the dance floor, hands aching for something to hold in his hand beside this. He needed a cigarette, badly. Finally, he saws Oikawa has caught up to him, as they take a cab back to his apartment, on the way home, he’s on the phone with Akaashi. Contacting everyone, he knows, saving Ukai to recieve the message soon or enough.

Iwaizumi pays the five dollars to the taxi driver, swinging the door open. He takes the elevator, and the sounds of his neighbors burst through the doors, and he wants to scream at the world to the shut up. But he doesn’t and unlocks the door, and Oikawa follows behind him. Iwaizumi shrugs his shoes off, his jacket now lying on the back of his couch. His phone rings, and he knows it’s Akaashi calling again.

It’s late, they’ve been out all day. He could stay for a couple for hours before the nightmares come again. Pull an eye-nighter even.

“Shit.” he whispers, crawling into his sheets. And Oikawa stands above him, his hands move around the table, searching for a pack.

“Here.” Oikawa softly says, handing him a pack of cigarettes, which he fumbles to open and quickly smokes.

One cigarette, two cigarettes, four cigarette he smokes before he can speak again. His voice weak, and ashy, and no doubt smelling like a sewer. He flicks the remains of the cigar into the nearest ashtray.

“He was just a kid, and now he’s being swept into our problems,” he says, and Oikawa comes around to face him.

“We’ll get him, it’s alright Hajime,” he whispers softly, holding onto his hands tightly.

“No it’s not, don’t you understand!” he yelled, swatting his hand away.

“Yes, I do. When I was eight years old, that I was the first time I met Fukazawa. He saved my life, but at the same time, gave me in return the life of past no return. Beaten, and broken, I’ve been trained to seduce or kill.” Oikawa’s voice cracks, as he grinds his teeth harshly.

“Kageyama’s my protege, we both know how Fukazawa works,” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi shakes his head furiously.

“He killed my parents! There’s no mercy when it comes to him!” Iwaizumi yells.

He’s played right into his hand once again.

“Hey, we’ll figure it out together. Were a team remember?” Oikawa grabs his cheek, forcing him to make eye-contact

When he nods, Oikawa smiles contently, lifting up Iwaizumi’s legs into the bed. On the other side, he joins him. Sliding into the covers, his tousled hair falls on the pillow. It’s been so long since he’s shared a bed with someone. The heat from the other boy warms him up, and the cigarette butt limply leaves his hand, dying out. He wants to say so much more but has no words for it.  
“Go to sleep, we’ll figure it out tomorrow.” Oikawa coos into his ear and he turns into his direction. Oikawa’s lips were so close, the faint scent of strawberry from the milkshake he drank hours ago.

“I don’t sleep.” he says, and Oikawa laughs, like sweet sticky molasses.

“I could tell, leaving me at the hotel.” he says.

“The nightmares have been with me since my parents died.” he says quietly. And there’s a pregnant pause in silence, and he could hear the soft breathes of Oikawa next to him.

“I’ll be there when you wake up.” and he turns the other way, before the sounds of small snores fall into a pace to his left.

For the first time in years he doesn’t wake up, and the next morning the bed is bare, cold as the window is open, the breeze seeping into the bed. Nothing, not even a note is left for him to figure out where he went. Oikawa is gone, and Iwaizumi knows it’s all his fault.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i made playlist go and give it a listen 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ZOEwHMqHxuPxgVe5v6x86

**Author's Note:**

> MUAHHAHHH part two will be up next week!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this~
> 
> and as an understatement, Oikawa was used as a pawn to leer the police into finding nothing. 
> 
> WHAT'S WRONG WITH IWA-CHAN? guess well find out soon.....


End file.
